A/N: For Klaroline fanfic week, I put this on tumblr for day two which was Dark Klaroline. It is based around the myth of Hades and Persephone, and pretty much my first shot at writing dark. P.S. Thank you for the amazing reviews left on previous chapters, and for following and/or favoriting these drabbles/oneshots. You guys are awesome! If you want to find out more abour klaroline fanfic week you can do so on tumblr :)
Warning: Slightly dark themes ahead
"I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable. But I am your servant. When you starve I will feed you; when you are sick I will tend you. I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased. For you alone I will be weak." - Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless
Doth taste for a sight, a sight of beauty, of mirth and hunger.
His first taste came with a cruel test, a test of patience and secluded desire. Upon the sight of fields, and air fresh, he spat venom of death, and longed for his underworld.
How he hated the odor of life. So much of it above his kingdom, neither Olympus nor what lay below, the center of an apple rotted to its core. The souls of mortals, a banshee in the mist. He found his pleasure when they bargained and pleaded for another year, only to be sucked into the eternal realm, his cruel laughter following them to what would be their fate. His servants.
Yet here he stood in this realm of life and living, the bolts of Saturn scorching his skin through dark robes that did not belong here. Burning he who did not belong here but in penance.
No other would he do this for,
No other but her.
His promised Queen, his eternal mate stolen to the equator in which he lived.
Now she was so full of light, of life and beauty. Her harvest to the fields, bringing the dead another year, and the spring a circle of lavender and white lilies.
The shrieking fates whose skin hung limp from their bones and played with thread had set their trickster spirits upon him without delicacy.
His brother did give him a choice. He could have walked away…If that's what he truly wanted. But alas she was his, belonged to him in matrimony and possession. He would take her, spoil white lilies with virgin's blood and see her beg for the consumption of darkness.
But for today he watched, he tasted…
The way she twirled in the lake, the sip of cool blue as she danced with nymphs and sang to her flowers. He slurped the scent of her skin, glowing and moist did he all but dried the stream clean at the sight of her soaked chiton, white as her lilies and clinging to a curved shape he'd swore Pygmalion had carved himself. Her nipples hard from the cold, he would suckle from marked breast and the bare view of a bottom he would take her as but a wolf in heat.
For a deity though hardly holy, he could curse the snakes hair for why such power could be succumbed by the baser thoughts of men. His lust and desires, taking over as starved animal.
And with the trail of bumps that ran down his goddess's arm, the palm light that allowed a blood rose to bloom he decided that watching another day would not be enough, would not satisfy those unyielding urges inside.
He did not want to taste anymore. He wanted to devour.
...
The crack of the earth was all it took. The whip of fire before the goddess in white was carried under the soil and into the depths of a dark sphere, his arms tight around her hips as his less than alive black mare brought them to his kingdom. How she screamed and writhed under his hands, he could only imagine the vibrancy of their marital bed.
When they came to a halt and she looked at her kidnapper, he saw the fear drown her orbs, although her green spotted curiosity. Alas she gazed upon the petals in her hand and watched them die, her last conscious memory before the underworld soaked up more black in the wisp of her master.
He caught her in his arms; the thin material bunched in his hands; soared her into his chamber and laid her on red silk. Ran his hand up long legs, thumbs caressing the specs of dirt from a kneeled position in green clover, between the hones of her breast, he pondered whether he should just take her without struggle.
No, he'd rather see her eyes, hear the moans and pleads she'd make to know all he would do to her, to whimper the name of who she belonged too.
Yet he did leave a certain indent of ownership upon her. She woke placing feet on marble floor and winced with the ice, moving towards a distorted reflection in an oval vanity. That was when she saw it.
A small mark above her chest, the marred purple of a swelling bite, he'd sucked with tinged lips until he was happy with the result, leaving her to rest in the strings of his caged stage, for the rust of the nails could cut deeper tomorrow, be pulled to control the golden flower that spoke of home in her sleep.
…
"Why am I here?"
He had sighed with annoyance as the questions began, as she fluttered nervously around his throne room like a hatched bird.
Didn't she know all born things died here?
"Haven't you heard love?"
He smirked deadly,
"You are mine."
She didn't take well to the news. Cussed him and yanked at the tapestry.
Queen she had scoffed at the word.
"I am not a Queen. I am a Goddess of spring. I do not belong in such darkness, with such darkness."
He grew impatient at the disgust in her voice, her fire sparked lust but her words caused anger and wrath. Would she speak in such a way, he'd punish her in the most glorious electives she wouldn't know if she was in pain or pleasure.
He grabbed her by the face, bringing her sweet lips so close to his blood stained ones. Circled his tongue around the juices, he swallowed with desire and craved more in her involuntary shiver. His tone was soft but his words harsh and suffocating, she'd struggled against him-
"And now you are mine. Anything else is irrelevant. You will learn this and speak of such things never again."
…
She felt herself grow colder, harder as time passed in this realm. The damp and lack of light made her ill, she would wretch with poison and refuse to eat the marvelous fruits prepared for her much to his displeasure.
You may call her foolish as he did but there was no source of nourishment down here. How did the fruit grow? She would not trust for the possibility of losing herself further.
Though she felt the battle slipping. Each night she'd be tempted with dreams that he dominated. Dreams of his body on top of hers, inside her; the arch of his bite, and the hurtful whimper of a bruising grip. She knew he was making her exhausted on purpose; he wanted her to give in of her own accord. It would be sweeter that way.
She hated the way she succumbed to these dreams, yelled in frustration for how she starved herself and dug her fingernails bloody into the walls, trying to escape. Such he would enter her room each evening, to kiss and heal every digit, salt the wound with his squeeze for punishment then tend the sting with his tongue in care.
She should loathe him, pray to her mother see her saved and he blasted by her father's bolt. But when he strode into the chambers that evening and gave her music she missed from above, a simple gesture, watching his smile carefully as she danced to the shadowed melody around him. She knew it could not be.
Removed her chinton as she did every night bare for he did not present her with nightclothes other than the satin quilts hiding her body from his eyes. She could not help herself from caressing the hones of his cheeks, the air of his mouth, for how could the ruler of the dead breathe? And finally after what seemed like decades place a gentle kiss upon those full lips.
Tender turned rough in an instant, he did not give her time to change her mind before his tongue was plunging in her mouth and he was ripping away the quilts, laying her down on their bed before taking his mate and the last piece of her innocence. Removing every second thought with the heavy sounds of slapping skin and replacing it with desire and loss of inhibition as she squirmed and whimpered under his godly hands.
The night an eternal eclipse, thus morning could not rise, the stained bed kept its servants in hunger for the wetness of divine skin.
…
Some days he noticed she would laugh, some days she would scream at him. But regardless of her mood he knew she grew sicker. Her skin paling, her hair brittle, the depression from a motherly call too her garden. He was determined too not see her fade, loved her in his own way, she his and now a part of him. He would never let her go.
Call him selfish; define him as unforgiving, for he could not allow her leave without ensuring she would find her way back into his world. Yes he loved her, but trust did not come with love, two of the same never went hand in broken palm.
This is why as he told her he would allow passage back to her world and she overcome with excitement stripped him bare, guiding him inside her he took the juices of the pomegranate and bit, sealing her fate with his kiss of fine nectar. Flowing into her mouth, his tongue pushing further.
She moaned and savored the taste, unbeknownst to the secret that only a sin could ever be so ultimately satisfying, mouthwatering, and so delicious. She flipped the ruler of her soul over in heat and rid him with all the will of an amazon steady upon their marvelous beasts.
He allowed her the control, losing himself in bliss as an echo of the fates whispered tales of the spring goddess's destiny in light of his decision. The deceitful path of his kingdom.
…
She cried when she found out. Wept to the willows that had not always been servants of the realm. Guided the little light she had left, let it run out of her palm like sharp sand. He spoke of visitation provided it was safe, but only if and when she agreed to finally become his Queen. Her broken heart, her loneliness a mere plot to get what he so desperately seeked without sweat. He told her once he always got what he wanted.
She cursed him so for it, despised herself for loving such a thing, all the while knowing this was the way he showed his love back to her, the only way he could. It saddened her…and while she'd like to say that she remained strong in her will, leaving him to stew in his own game. The weak reality would make it nothing more than a delusional lie.
She would not put herself through the torture of losing him now, for the torture she felt when with him were dare say it the less of two such evils. She would not do that to him and lose her temptation, her love. She needed him almost as much as he needed her. Perhaps it wasn't healthy but nothing in the underworld was. All but a sick pestilence.
So alas they came to an agreement. She would spend the spring in her world to attend to her responsibilities as he would do his without distraction. But when the winter she was his, completely. Surrendering herself to darkness around her and giving in to every whim and desire to be by his side. Sealed with his blood in her veins, the snake of possession invading her insides, his name written in the vessels, carved in whisper of eternal life.
She had one final condition though. His cruel mistress, his lover and now his companion in eternity-
"I will not rule as your Queen"
She stood high with all the grace and confidence of a leader,
"I will rule as your Goddess and nothing less.
You will learn,
Master of my heart, abductor of my soul."
….
"In his own country, Death can be kind." - Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless
